Born On The Bayou

6 May

This blog is a week or so overdue, but I’ve got some time to kill on a bus ride to New York, so let’s do this, readers!

Here is a recounting of my travel adventure to Shreveport, Louisiana.  There were ups and downs and crawfish and baked beans.  So…excitement, is what I’m saying.

On Sunday, I bid goodbye to New York City, where I had visited friends and seen Elvis Perkins in Dearland perform.  The friends were great, and the show was also great.  There was a horn section, for which I have always been (and probably will always be) a sucker.

Elvis Perkins is the blurry one in the middle. Dearland is comprised of the blurry folks on the outskirts.

I took a taxi to JFK Airport.  My cab driver was an amazing old Jewish man who was an economist, and had owned a women’s clothing store, and then run a large non-profit youth basketball league in Brooklyn.  He told me lots of great stories, and even if they were embellished, they were totally worth hearing.

At the airport, I ran into friend Sean McCarthy (of superior blog The Comic’s Comic) and just missed meeting comedy great Marc Maron.  Also, there are birds in the Delta terminal at JFK, which is mildly off-putting.  What is weirder is that no one else mentions it.  Like: “Big whoop, it’s New York City.  We’ve got birds indoors here.”

I fell asleep while the plane was on the tarmac, and I woke up still on the tarmac, which was weird because an hour and a half had passed.  And I had expected the plane to be a space machine rather than a time machine.  Our flight attendants assured us that we would still arrive on time, but, as chronological order would have it, I missed my connecting flight out of Memphis.  Additionally, there were no later flights because the Memphis airport basically turns the keys over to FedEx on Sunday nights and lets them route their shipping from there.

So, as I saw it, my options were two.  I could a) Rent a car and drive six hours to Shreveport.  Or b) Cross my fingers that my 9:20 flight the next morning would get off on time and get me to the gig.  If there had been car rentals right at the airport, I probably would have taken off right then, but everything was a shuttle ride away, so I shacked up for the night and rolled the dice on the Memphis weather and Delta’s less-than-sterling record of telling me the truth.  To console myself, I ordered a bbq pork platter to my hotel room.  I then consoled myself to the point of bursting.

The consolation prize.

Everything went great the next morning.  I made it to the student center at LSU-Shreveport with 15 minutes to spare, and everything was all set for the show.  Unfortunately, there was maybe a crowd of 2 that knew that I was coming.

Nevertheless, the show started, and the audience slowly built to nearly six times its original size.  Plus, there were random laughs from other parts of the cafeteria that I choose to attribute to their accidental enjoyment of my performance.  Everyone in the front, though, was listening and enjoying.  And the people in the back were not disruptive.  So a show that could have been pretty rough turned into kind of a “swell gig” (the opposite of a “hell gig”).

Anyway, on the way back to the airport, Tommy, my second amazing cab driver of the trip, took me to Big Daddy’s to get crawfish.  Big Daddy’s is a trailer by the side of the road with a credit card machine that only takes food stamps.  So I got two pounds of crawfish (roughly six zillion crawfish).  I took them to the airport food court where I proceeded to eat all of them.  The food court director (Chef Tiny) was drawn out of the kitchen by the smell of my crawfish, but he declined my offer to share them with him.

There was no one else going through security at Shreveport Regional, so all of the TSA people just helped me shuttle my bags through, which was nice of them.  Then, by late evening, I was back in Boston.

Slaughter. Wholesale slaughter. Take that, the sea.

Adventure concluded!


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